Tides of Conspiracy
by classydash
Summary: As a notorious pirate, when Klaus makes a deal, he expects the payout; Caroline. Only with ruses abound and a web of lies, things take a turn for the dramatic, and even Kol finds himself the target of deceit, thanks to his brothel, while Rebekah makes more mistakes with her heart and Elijah is left to clean up their messes. Klaroline. Kennett. Others. AU.
1. One Life, One Dream

**Tides of Conspiracy**

Chapter One: One Life, One Dream

* * *

**1724, England.**

"But father!" She pleaded, half bobbing on the spot, expressive eyes stretching wide as she fixated him with her most undeniable of pouts. "_Please!_" She said, implying innocence while really meaning, _Don't make me compel you_. Caroline Forbes had the note of anxiety riddling her otherwise talc demeanor, jumpy with the skittishness of someone fighting back the urge to glance repetitively over her shoulder, the actions frantic, like a little girl who just wanted her daddy's support.

This went far further than mere protection; she was after his approval.

His acceptance.

Once his little pumpkin, the angel he constantly praised, Caroline found she'd come to have lost the title of Daddy's little girl the moment he'd discerned the truth of her state.

That blood, not food, was what she required to survive.

That his precious, little baby was a monster of the night: a _vampire_.

"I just want to be like every other girl my age." The wistful huff implied far more than what was discernible on the surface, and the dear was but an upturned nose away from stamping an impatient heel against the stone checkered floor. "And be _married_!" She was stalking now, back and forth, in such a fluster her skirts billowed by her ankles, tangenting for all that her childish dreams were worth – _Are_ worth. "Most of my friends have already experienced the joys of motherhood, and the others are practically expecting! Besides he's of good stalk." A pause, eyes stretched open to their limits as she gave a slight shake of her head. "It's not like he's a commoner. I would do the family proud by joining with this man!"

This statement seemed to horrify her father, who rightly so was having trouble adjusting his perspective of her, his precious only child. Only, it wasn't because of what one might think. "Caroline, until we find a way to … _fix_ your current … imposition, you know I cannot bequeath your hand to a man of merit, worthy or otherwise. Do not forget, child. A husband – especially a_Lockwood_ – naturally requires a heir to their legacy." It was his nicer way of saying she was a barren wasteland.

It was his nicer way of saying he wished he had a son.

She latched onto the underlying issue, the one that lay at the root of her remaining insecurities; it had nothing to do with infertility or boys. "But daddy, I _cannot_ be fixed!" Caroline stressed, the emotion hanging heavy, be-speckling her mood black, piercing with the wobble of a throat close to breaking down. Just as the crystalline of tears prickled sharply at the corners of eyes, glistening even as she made a brave bid to fight – and swallow – the distress they represented back.

"Please…" She stuttered, wondering if compelling one's own father was really so morally bad. "Please, daddy, let me have this chance at happiness …" She pressed, holding back on the supernatural compulsion for the meantime. Those tears, however, seemed to work equally well as that little vampirism trick, for he folded like a bitter burnt-out Rake dealt the worst of hands.

"Fine, Caroline." He relented – how had he had a choice? He'd made her far too wise. Rising slowly from his leather puffed chair, Bill – as he went by – yanked on the hem of his deep plum waistcoat as if uncomfortable with the proposed scenario. Fidgety hands drew a silver pocket watch – a gift from his father on his own wedding day – from the fold in fabric its chain hung and fumbled to open it as he averted his eyes.

Time, that relentless bitch. How had so much of it gone by? It was the swiftest of life's vices.

Yet, nevertheless, he was soon forced to cast his child a wistfully sad look, having only ever wished the best for his precious little bumpkin. "If your so-called perfect man seeks out my audience to request your hand, I give you my word, my darling, that I will bestow upon him my utterly absolute blessing."

Caroline hardly let him finish before the squeal was squeezing past her lips, hands brought together in a jubilant clap that couldn't have been contained if she'd tried, practically flying around his desk to wrap him up in the tightest of relieved hugs. "Oh thank you, daddy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Caroline had never felt so grateful.

Bill actually had to pry her fingers off, one by one, which took some work given that with her … transition, she'd grown remarkably stronger. It was an unnerving thought for a father. "Caroline, please, I have much work to do. Unless you care for me to change my mind, best leave me to it." Taking the hint, Caroline pulled back after one final tight hug and peck to the cheek, before unhinging the winding hold and all but skipping out the door.

* * *

_Dear Lord._

In her exuberant wake, William cast his eye about the parchment and quills littering his desk and shoved them aside, tension riddling features daunt as he moved away, hands wrung behind his back, strolling in deepest tangent of thoughts, past the mahogany of his estate desk and toward the frosted window, tentative as his gaze peered out at the horizon to hone in on the waves crashing against the shore.

Toward the interwoven docks that crisscrossed out to sea, his ships stood like pillars of strength, a physical monument which symbolized his legacy. Toward the mill of bustling workers, all under his direction, currently both loading and unloading the various ships bobbing in their docks, while it all looked tiny from this elevation, Bill knew that locating larger, more well-crafted ships than the ones belonging to him was nigh impossible.

These vessels would make any man proud. His was an Empire that was easily envied.

Just as it was one that would not have been at all had it not been for a deal with the worst sort of wicked.

Bill sighed, lifting the sole candle used to light the room, praying that he hadn't made a grave err in judgement, and extinguished the flame with a hefty expel of carbon.

Left it blackness with naught but one tormenting thought for company.

_What the devil have I done?_

* * *

"I don't mean ta' question the wits to yer orders, Cap'n, but ain't that Petrova wrench in the o'ther direction?" Gage inquired, standing at the ready to receive any and all prompts for immediate action, and wordlessly took the captain's spyglass when Klaus lowered it. "Aye, mate, but quit questioning yer superior before I decide to make mincemeat of yer spleen." Gage cocked an eyebrow, but didn't speak, inquiring with those attentive eyes instead.

Klaus stared at him hard for a moment, as if fighting back the urge to knock his wise ass overboard – it would serve the twit right – before merely belaying a surprisingly accurate reason and a glare befit an executioner. "That blumming bloodline has proven a difficult treasure to track, and I've another bounty long overdue in the claiming." Gage sent him a quizzical look, but he hadn't made the position of first mate by being dumb enough to question his captain twice on the same topic, at least not consecutively.

So instead he shrugged – his signature move – and gave his boss man a respectful salute. "Aye, Aye, Cap'n." He winked then, always the playful bastard, and smiled at Klaus with that damnably irritating all-knowing look. Damnably irritating if you're Klaus that is; hilarious as fuckin' hell if you were his first successful Hybrid – turns out the ole Pop had a fancy for sentiments after all. "I'll get the boys ready to dock," Gage said without being asked.

"Declan," the Captain called from where he was propped one leg up against the rail and turned slowly to stare down the retreating hybrid, the wind wreaking havoc as it played with the long, unkempt dirty blonde waves. Gage paused, swift as a sailor, and cast a one-eyed glance up at the Alpha. "Yes, Sire?" Niklaus rolled his eyes, cursing the day he'd ever decided to grow fond of the smart-ass pup like one would a friend.

"Tell the boys to suit up. I anticipate a tad touch of résistance when we land." Expressively Klaus whipped out his own rapier as example, slashing expertly through the air and tossing the deadly weapon up, spinning so that he might gauge its state of balance, afore catching it with the satisfied flick of a wrist and tossing Gage a look that stated quite firmly, _chop chop. Get too it._

* * *

Caroline squealed, admittedly all high-pitched and girlishly, as she pulled out the intricately interwoven dress from the box her hard-lipped mother had just presented her with. "Oh my gosh! This is absolute perfection!" The eager bride-to-be held the silken lace garment with handwoven bead-work up against herself, smile radiant and bright as she spun around, once, twice, three times, before collapsing back against her bed and loosing yet another squeal of excitement.

"Caroline!" Lady Forbes' voice carried stern and proper, stilling the squirming girl where she lay until pitching her mother with softly inquiring eyes. "Get a hold of yourself, child! You're to be a woman now; that means there are expected behaviors you must grow accustomed to. You will have a household to run, after all."

Pouting to have her parade so rained on, Caroline let out an impatient sigh and rolled over onto her side, propping up on an elbow to stare her mother down. "But everything is perfect and I'm in looooove with the man I am to marry!" The overexcited bride sang, literally – and too worked up to stay so still, jumped promptly up with another dramatic twirl, so that the skirts of the dress still tightly clutched against her chest spun out, and took to dancing in the air.

"Are you sure about that?" Elizabeth, ever practical, flashed her child a solemn look which bespoke of a great amount of pain suppressed beneath the surface of stiff flesh. Whether it was the look or the words that snared Caroline's attention proved irrelevant in the face of the cold-blooded chill they left her with. "Mother? Whatever do you mean?" Thought traced with the edge of suspicion, her words held the understanding note of empathic sympathy – as though she had an idea, but was adamant in denying its existence, even if she was able to detect the labored beat of the mortal woman's heart.

Her parents' union had always been the epitome of perfect … Surely her mother couldn't be eluding to –

"Caroline, I once thought like you, but lately I have gained the impression your father is more interested in – _nevermind. _Now is not the time to be discussing such matters. It's your wedding day. Now come over here so I may tighten that corset!"

The vampire who craved acceptance above all else could only smile at the demand, reminded oh-so-much of all those merry – and that was intended sarcastically – moments of her youth. Pleased or not by the parental affection, it didn't stop those dramatically emerald blue eyes from rolling with high drama as she rose, dress pressed against her chest, and moved toward her mother with that perky bounce back in each step.

"The way you've been dancing around makes us look like we're penniless," Elizabeth fumed with a _you're going to be late_ shake of her head.

"Oh let it up! I happen to be marrying a Lockwood forget you not. They practically run this town." Arrogant, Caroline could not help but wonder if it was genuinely her mother she aimed to convince with such haughty words, and as she turned to slowly face the oval-shaped mirror, those deeply internal concerns were interrupted only by the yank of strings that forced out the first of many staggered breaths. At least it wasn't nigh as painful as it used to be, seeing as she was dead and all. But still ...

_Ugh_. _Who invented these anyway_?

* * *

These docks were convenient, Klaus decided as his feared and legendary vessel – the _Queen Enilora of the Sea_ – groaned to a sharp halt by the nearest one. He was, for once, eager to land and mingle amongst the masses, deeply pleased, to a level of rarity, by more than just the whistle of sails and the cries of his enemies as he tore out their unworthy hearts, but by that which he'd long ago deemed his.

It was a quiet evening, and not a soul was in sight as his heightened senses took analyse of the area. The shops were quiet, fish and bait stalls closed up for the night, and even the ships that rocked and moaned with the gentle tide seemed calm, at peace, like giant whales asleep. As for the docks themselves, they were devoid of souls save the drunken, passed out forms of beggars run ragged.

Once swift movement was all it took, a show of agility and possibly only by his supernatural powers which brought him down toward the docks. Landing in a crouch after waiting with impatience for so long for his ship to begin setting anchor, as he rose he smirked at how easily his plan had come to fruition. Klaus couldn't help but regret agreeing to leaving such expedient ports spared from his crew's – quite literally – deadly raids.

Hybrids had to eat, after all, and after so many weeks out at sea, it often become quite the messy feast.

Hardly his fault, if you asked him; a necessary evil, if you will. As far as he saw it, it was the fault of the victims for failing to fend them off.

Without waiting for his pack – they knew enough to catch the damn up – he hastened up the docks, pausing only once when a patrol man questioned his arrival, but Klaus grabbed the sucker by the shoulder and compelled instant and utter compliance out of him. Moments later, the very same dock boy was pointing him along his merry way and even wishing him well on his travels.

_Now there's a good man_.

Klaus patted his cheek, as if that was an appropriate form of thanks, and continued on his way, fingertips itching to draw his blade and quite literally paint the town a bloody shade of red.

What better way to mark the arrival of a pirate whose legend had grown so huge? Klaus couldn't think of a better one, but alas - time did not permit such an artistic stroke of luxury. That didn't make his reputation any less vital; these mortals needed a good wake-up call to his existence. It was a sickening thought, to think that many people preferred to take to the common safety-net of delusions that he didn't exist.

Just another figment of fantasy, made up to keep naughty boys from thinking the life of crime a luxury. Hah, if only the mortals were so lucky. Funny how they'd rather write off first-hand experiences as fanciful trips of the imagination, document the strangest of occurrences as myth, then face the tauntingly real truth that their belief in their position at the top of the food chain was the largest deluded safety-net of all.

Idiots.

But he wasn't here for them and so for once, he skipped the bloodbath in lieu of rushing forth. Niklaus, frankly, was far too feverishly impatient to wait up for the rest of his underlings, discerning that he'd delayed long enough in acquiring his just prize, a treasure he'd bartered for a thousand times over.

So what if he was considered late in its reception?

It could hardly be considered his fault that with all his unique abilities he didn't possess one capable of forcing a ship to sail faster than it had originally been created to. Too bad, for it would be quite the fantastic trick.

Silent save the click of booted heels against the pillars of the dock, he noticed immediately when another pair joined his, and instantly Klaus's head snapped around to glower into the dark. But the other struck first – with words, that is. As if he was quick enough to get anything else in. "_Niklaus_, I was wondering when you'd dare show that damned cowardly face of yours." The arrogant hunter's voice snarled, cuttingly, and Klaus regretted instantly not disemboweling him the last time he'd encountered him.

_Mercy_. It was for bloody fools.

This became a sentiment that only sky-rocketed exponentially as the hauntingly familiar face of Ambrose floated out of the shadows and into the pale cast of the moon. "I know what you're after, but you'll fail in the acquiring of it. You're much too late, you pathetic mutt." Rage filled Niklaus to the brim, hand instantly moving toward his rapier, the movement causing the hunter to scowl at him, the grim expression twisting slowly into a psychotic smirk as though enjoying the flicker of emotion that surfaced on the hybrid's face. "That obsession of yours is marrying_another. _What a pity._"_

He couldn't believe it, and as the emotions unleashed themselves inside, Klaus's eyes nearly popped out his skull with the force of his fury. "When!?" He snapped, lunging forward with teeth bared. This only seemed to egg Ambrose on, who quaintly added, "Come morning," with a flap of flippant shoulders and a brisk wave of hand.

Like he held Klaus on a leash.

It was a bittersweet moment for the vampire hunter. Klaus made sure of that.

By sinking a fist straight through the _real_ bastard's chest, mercilessly yanking the pitiful fool's heart clean out.

And it would be a lie to claim he did not enjoy the way it felt, that last flicker of a beat in the bloody organ he tore free of ligament and flesh. "Sorry, matey. Turns out I don't give a crap."

Indifferently, Klaus tossed the limp body off the docks, his only regret as the tide claimed its sacrifice that he hadn't the time to prolong that much over-do death. Ah well; he'd make up for it in the next one.

"What's the plan, Cap'n?" Gage, having fallen easily in stride beside his boss, posed the question with naught but a glance at the drowning body and a whisper under what could be considered a courageous – or downright stupid – breath {anyone would have to be to approach the Captain when he carried that wickedly sinister, and highly aggravated expression.} "How will ye get in, Boss?" Gage frowned, brow knit with concern and not at all over the murder he'd just witnessed.

Only about his Master's safety.

Klaus would have snapped the youngster's neck, in irritation alone, had he not known without a doubt the kid meant it in the upmost respect. In his own annoying way, the deck-hand turned his most trusted man was only trying to protect him. It was why the bugger had been offered the position of first mate, being one of the sole few he trusted to watch his back and not be tempted to sink a bloody dagger in it.

Daggers he kept locked up and hidden in his cabin, for obvious reasons.

"That's hardly a concern, Declan." Klaus shrugged, wiping the blood clean from his hand and ignoring the hair that blew ruggedly across a stone-cold face. "The invitation has already been extended."

Years ago, but canny thing was, once was all it took.

His smile was devious then, etching into place and looking particularly sinister under the pale glow of the moon, with stars that twinkled with a killer gleam, just as did his eyes. "Come the morrow, I will claim that which is mine, but tonight, boy, we drink." The toothy, wolfish grin was highlighted by the moonlight and the flicker of fire hanging from a half doused torch.

Klaus snatched up the torch from where it had been hung, brandishing the fire around so the red, eerie glow flickered across his first mate's face and illuminated the features taunt with outlined thought. "Round up the crew, laddie. A certain little old tavern's got our name on it."

And a grand plan to be hatched.

* * *

_So this is why the expression uses butterflies_, Caroline thought on the eve of her wedding, with nerves rotting outward from the pit of her stomach. Anxiously, she chewed her lip and crossed the tips of her toes, scandalously bared, to the window carved out of stone and detailed with stained glass. A scene of stars depicted, which she'd always found a bit ironic since it made it next to impossible to see the real ones, unless you leaned just so.

Head cocked uncomfortably to the left, until the tip of her skull rested against the curved stone, she frowned. As a child, she'd always viewed this room as though it were a castle, but years brought out wisdom on the matter – that it was really naught but a tower for protection. Her father had erected it years ago when the threat of thieves and pirates rained frequently down on their harbor.

Sometimes, she still liked to pretend it was a castle.

The little girl in us all never truly died, even if the girly side was abandoned – but tonight, Caroline was feeling very much a feminine woman and girly all at the same time, for it marked the last night she would be considered a girl. Tomorrow, her husband would make her a woman. It was a feeling quite unlike any other and though excitement grew between the clutch of insecure anxiety, one thought marred this should-have-been perfect moment.

_What happens if – no, when; a wife cannot lie to her husband – he finds out what I am?_

The weight of this thought was enough to make her half collapse against the wall, seeking the support of its stone-like structure to hold her head up high, clutching at her stomach that pitched a sudden protest, contents hurling around with a rumble of what she'd first thought as another wave of nerves but turned out to be a groan of hunger.

Her body was still adapting to the change, not sure how to alert itself of its own new cravings.

Then again, it didn't help that she'd ignored the first slew of signs.

Like the blood thirst.

She hissed, teeth threatening to grow, gums aching with the need of such a release, as she cried out in muffled anguish, clamping her own mouth shut with her hand. _Why_? _why now_?! Caroline thought, half close to being overwhelmed by tears. _Why do I have to be such a monster_?

Shaking, her knees give way and she doesn't fight it, curling knees close as she rocked herself calm.

It was going to be okay. It had to be; even if it meant a life of lying to her husband.

* * *

Just as he'd expected, Ambrose was dead. Damnnation! The hybrid had succeeded again. Ezra growled, lips curling in objection, irked that the rookie Hunter had thought himself ready to take out an Original, even if he'd lived to rant and rave about his last attempt. The fool had been cocky, and it had cost them all. Now drastic measures were in order. Ezra lowered his hood, moving swiftly toward the tavern his contact had said the boy was at.

There was still once last chance to salvage this mess of a scenario, and he, a proud member of the infamous Five, was not about to waste it. There were some things one couldn't rely on others to accomplish, and so he took it upon himself to finish the job himself. Tonight. Ezra had a good feeling about this, and his instincts were generally right on the mark.

It would all depend on this … Caroline.

Which was the reason behind the meeting he'd already set up, and just as expected the man was waiting for him, tucked away at the specific table in the Queen's Crest Tavern. "Ah, I see you received my message." His tone was silken, husked in mystery as he took up a seat and fixated the young Lord with a piercing gaze.

"I assume you've had time to consider my proposal?" The hunter inquired, waving over a barmaid to bring two mugs of ale. He didn't touch his when they came, but instead motioned for his guest to drink up. The bar was noisy, rowdy even, and occupied by the very hybrid he was after but this wasn't the time to approach, not when he was surrounded by his band of merry men.

The fools.

Features darkening, the age-old hunter drew back in his seat, fixating the boy with an inquisitive look as the other gave an uncomfortable shrug, and shot back the offered alcohol. Ezra had rightly gauged that the liquor would loosen those tightly reigned inhibitions, the ones holding the hesitant young man back on committing to such a dark deal.

It must be hard, learning the love of your life was a monster.

Slowly, the kid began to nod, his features drawn tense and bitter and it made Ezra's lips crack slowly into a wickedly sinister simper, before he stretched out a hand to shake a seal on the agreement, rising from his seat even as he did so. "You've chosen well." Then, as he turned to leave, he cast the other one last pleased glance and offered a curt, affirmed nod of his head. "I do believe we'll make good allies, Lord Lockwood."

* * *

This was it, the moment she'd spent her entire life waiting for. The emotions were overwhelming – then again, everything had seemed more intense, _heightened_, since turning. She'd shed a tear or two, being lead down the aisle, and when it came time for her father to give her away, she'd nearly gotten so overcome with feelings that she'd had to fight back the urge to run away from her groom.

_So that's where the expression cold feet originated from_, she thought nervously when she met Tyler's eye. Despite her optimistic outlook, her mother's words still echoed in her head, spinning around like a mantra prone to manifest insanity.

Tyler was perfect, well-groomed and filled out a suit just so, from a family name even larger and older then her own; whose influence in the town exceeded even the Forbes ship business. So why the sudden hesitation? Caroline's mouth went dry at the lack of acceptable explanation. In fact, she felt straight up faint and feared in all the excitement over the wedding that perhaps she hadn't quite fed enough …

It was only when the priest cleared his throat and threw out the most nerve-wracking line of all {aside perhaps from the one prompting the _I do's_} that Caroline snapped back into focus, mentally praying silence to follow the dreaded question. "If anyone knows why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

_Silence. I'm just asking for silence._

She wasn't so lucky.

"If those are the terms, then I must admit I have a little something to say about that." The voice billowed powerfully, echoing down the great hall on the tail of a loud creak, signaling the opening of the double doors, thrust suddenly ajar in a defiant cry against this very institution and all that it stood for – primarily the ceremony currently in service. And so it was with blasphemous exuberance that Klaus strolled calmly to stand in the door frame, as though he owned the place, hand above the hilt of the sword that while unneeded, he had to admit was rather fun to wield.

In the same regal air he did everything, he angled his head arrogantly in a lethally downward tilt, one that screamed he wouldn't be so easily fought off, and could only smirk in satisfaction at the gasps and horrified stares, strangely enjoying all the mystified attention.

Or perhaps he was smug to discover he'd arrived just in the _Nik_ of time.

Offering a wink that sealed the notion of his wicked nature, he gave a bit of a tsking sound as the rest of his hybrids finally caught up and filed in line behind him, swords already drawn and at the ready. "Let's just say that holding my peace is not exactly in my nature."

Caroline was stunned speechless for the moment as her eyes tore reluctantly from Tyler's to the strange and irksomely dominate male, who couldn't have had worst timing. Yet, her initial thought was not one of anger over his daring to object at all, but rather only able to focus on one outstandingly curious fact.

Who in the blazes was _he_?

Okay, two things, the other being a startling revelation.

_Vampire_.

* * *

**AUTHORS' NOTES**: This idea started from a goofy drabble prompt, but after approximately five minutes of plotting, we knew we had to turn it into a series. Okay, D knew and begged Ashland until she agreed. Once again, like with our other epic, this chapter is mainly a set up to introduce a few of the main characters and their situations, and establish the first of a couple story arcs. This story also includes a few original creations, including Gage Declan, a hybrid minion, and a few new Hunters by the names of Ambrose and Ezra. Enjoy! But have no fear, the story is not limited to the ones introduced in this chapter and will go on to include all the other originals, including Elijah (who is a lord) and Kol (who owns a brothel.) I can also promise some hot Kennett action to come and more intense scenes of swashbuckling awesomeness (sword fights, anyone!?) But seriously, that's all the hints you'll be getting for a time. You'll just have to read on if you want to know more. xD. Now, let us know if you like it! Good reviews inspire quick updates, because each one makes us that much more excited to write!


	2. Sparks of Danger

**Tides of Conspiracy**

Chapter Two: Sparks of Danger

* * *

"Bonnie, dear," Lady Mary Radmoor murmured upon coming to a halt in the doorway. Laden down with refreshments and lemon cakes, a warm smile graced her wary features as she took in the sight of the youngest addition to the Radmoor family lounging in the center of the window seat, pouring over yet another thick, leather-bound tome—one of various anxious texts she'd discovered years ago when she'd first stumbled upon the library. As soon as she'd caught the young girl's attention, she cast a fond glance around the Radmoor library. "I should have known I would find you here. You are much akin to your grandmother in that aspect. She too would spend hours in the library—when we had no need of her, of course." Her smile turned a shade whimsical, as though she was recalling a particularly pleasant memory, but then she quickly shook off whatever feeling had overcome her in that moment and said, "Now, then. I need you to deliver this to Lord Radmoor and his guest in the study."

Heaving a soft sigh of resignation, Bonnie Bennett gently closed the book and set it aside, her heart aching at the thought of her grandmother. She had not been gone long, but to her only grandchild, it felt as though a century had passed since last they'd spoken. Though she missed her terribly, she tried not to let it show just how much she did, for it would do her no good, nor would it bring her back. "Yes, Lady Radmoor," she responded softly, accepting the tray without hesitation, well aware of her place among the family that had been kind enough to take her in after her grandmother's passing. It mattered not that she was different. They had still welcomed her into the fold with nary an unpleasant word between them. Such was their kindness.

Smile firmly in place, she carried the tray toward the study and upon reaching the door, she carefully balanced it on one arm and gave the sturdy, wooden surface a rap with her knuckles. "Come in," the familiar voice of Terrance Radmoor bid entrance. She wasted very little time in heeding his order and pushed the door open, instantly sensing the tension in the air. Bonnie inwardly flinched as she glanced from Radmoor's face to his guest's, noting the difference in rank immediately. The man's common, dirt-encrusted clothes gave him away.

"Ah, there you are, Bonnie." Radmoor forced a grin, practically oozing anxiety in the face of her arrival. "This is Tad Wellington. He—uh—he's come to escort you to your new home."

Bonnie blinked, surprise momentarily holding her captive. Until his words finally registered, and she hastened to say, "My new home? I am afraid I don't understand."

Before he could offer an explanation, however, the other man, with his rough appearance and sneering face, spoke up, a certain gleam in his dark eyes she found distasteful. "Yer ta come with me, dearie. Boss been expectin' ya."

That struck her as odd. What boss? Better yet, why was he expecting her? As far as she knew, no one knew of her existence aside from the Radmoors.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies," the man she'd always looked up to as a father figure of sorts said solemnly, then cast a slightly fearful glance toward his guest, who merely chuckled in return and shook his head. "What good are yer apologies, old man? Ain't good at all." But when the gruff-speaking man suddenly moved to seize her arm in an iron-clad grasp, her grip upon the tray slackened and it fell to the floor, causing her to start slightly when the glass shattered on impact.

"What's going on?" She gazed at Radmoor as she asked this, looking to him for answers—but it was his guest who answered. "Yer bein' sold, girlie. Simple as that." At the look of horror that briefly flickered across her face, he cracked a grin as he inched closer to her. "Ain't the saint ya thought him ta be, huh?"

But it wasn't until she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye that she realized what he was about. Wide-eyed gaze fixated on the cloth he held clutched tightly in his hand, Bonnie started to back away but found that she couldn't, his hold upon her too strong.

"Don't worry none, little girl. I'll be sure ta take good care of ya."

* * *

_Laughter filled the meadow as flames the likes of which she'd never seen before swayed in tune with Sheila Bennett's chanting, reacting to the sobriety of her voice. Bonnie watched in awe as they continued to grow in size until they all but touched the sky. "Beautiful, aren't they?" Her grandmother's voice sounded then, weary but satisfied. "But dangerous, yes. Very dangerous. You must never forget that."_

"_Yes, grandmother," Bonnie returned with a nod, properly chastised. "May I?" She inquired eagerly, nigh desperate to participate, for nature was so very difficult, even impossible, to ignore._

"_No," she said, her tone bereft of the warmth it had exuded but seconds ago in the wake of her curious inquiry. "You are never to do this, understand?" At her crestfallen look, Sheila added sharply, "Do you understand, Bonnie? The smallest mistake is often responsible for the worst of circumstances." As she extinguished the flame with a simple flick of her wrist, a stern frown tugged at the corners of her lips. "Very few people are tolerant of those they consider different. Should anyone discover what you can do, your very life could be forfeit."_

_It wasn't so much her words that drove home the need for secrecy; it was the anxious, intent expression in her eyes, an expression she rarely donned, which made it all the more noticeable and terrifying. "Do you understand?" She repeated the question, a hardness about her tone that bespoke of her determination to have her way in this._

"_But Grams..." Bonnie started to argue, but then thought better of it. "Yes," she muttered reluctantly._

"_Good girl," Sheila praised, gesturing impatiently with her hand for her approach. "Now come here. I have much to teach you before this night is through."_

Bonnie came to with a gasp, her wild-eyed, emerald gaze honing in on the slender silhouette of a woman hovering over her. Disoriented, she struggled to remember her dream, but it proved just as determined to elude her mental grasp — something to do with secrecy, she knew. But her struggle soon came to an end when it disappeared altogether, and with a huff of irritation, she moved to rise. Unfortunately, her muscles refused to cooperate, and she was forced to lay there while she slowly grew accustomed to her surroundings.

The room was small, ordinary, and surprisingly clean, with a recently polished wooden dresser and a comfortable bed. She would know, given that she currently occupied it.

"Ah, good. Yer awake," the older woman said coolly, fixing her with a speculating stare.

Bonnie frowned in confusion. "Where am I?" She rasped, casting yet another nervous glance around the room.

"You'll find out soon enough." There was an air of sympathy about her as she regarded her with solemn eyes. Then she clapped her hands, and it was as though all had been forgotten in lieu of her directive. "Now yer to come with me. The lord will want to get a good look at ya before assigning yer duties."

Bonnie stared, not comprehending. "I don't—"

"Ya will in time, dear," she interrupted with a brusque nod, promptly helping her onto her feet and urging her toward the door. "He's an impatient man, the lord. Don't much appreciate tardiness." The woman cast her a warning frown. "Best ya remember that." There was something about those words and the urgency shadowing them that reminded her of her dream; yet no matter how hard she strove to remember it, elusiveness proved just as difficult a barrier to break now than it did then.

"Come along now."

Though tempted to slip back into the room and thus attempt to find another mode of escape, if only to alleviate the unease she could feel building within her, reacting to the thought of an unknown future, Bonnie somehow managed to resist the temptation the notion of freedom bestowed upon her and silently trailed after the woman — whom she had perceived to be a servant from the moment of her awakening — as she led the way down the strangely empty, dimly lit corridor, purposefulness in her steady gait while resolve hardened her face, the rigid cast to her features telling in the way she handled herself. She was clearly an important fixture in this household.

"Yer to be on yer best behavior, am I clear?" She demanded in a strictly no-nonsense tone. "The lord is a busy man and has no time for nonsense."

"But you have not—"

"If yer lucky, yer first assignment will be Cain," she continued as though Bonnie had not spoken, quickening her pace as though in a bid to rid herself of unwanted baggage, namely her.

"Cain?" She furrowed her brows, confusion paramount in her thoughts. "Who is this Cain? And what of this lord you speak of? Where is Lord Radmoor? There must be some mistake. I—"

"Mistake? Doubtful." The sudden intrusion had her whipping her head around to pin the well-dressed stranger with a heated glare, infuriated by the disturbance. Odd, given how she'd easily overlooked the woman's penchant for interrupting her when she merely desired to get to the bottom of her current predicament. "A mistake would be serving that atrocious glop they dare call stew for dinner again, but this?" He made a wide sweeping gesture with his arm to encompass the entirety of the corridor and flashed a boyish grin, deceptively innocent in the way his full lips quirked as he gazed down at her with something akin to amusement. "Unfortunately not a mistake, darling. I wonder what you did to deserve such a cruel punishment. Perhaps a husband took an interest in you and the bitter, jealous wife sent you away in hopes of regaining her wayward husband's attention. Am I close?" His grin widened, deriving enjoyment from glimpsing the indignant anger glittering in her remarkably expressive eyes.

"No!" She snapped, turning to look expectantly at the older woman, hoping she would do something about this disrespectful … _glop_ of a human being. But instead of the intense scolding Bonnie had expected, her … guide looked at him with the strangest expression, a mixture of chagrin and fondness, silent but for the soft giggle that slipped through her pursed lips as he offered her a slight bow in greeting and a charming, "Darling Penelope, how lovely to see you again."

"Unbelievable," Bonnie mumbled, disbelief hot on the heels of her exasperation. "I assume you have a purpose here?" She raised her eyebrow in question, needing the distraction, for it afforded her the opportunity to at the very least feign ignorance for the direction her life had suddenly taken.

The man merely smirked in response. "Of course I do. Allow me to introduce myself, darling." A minute pause, followed shortly by, "Cain, at your service. No? Would you prefer to be at mine?" Chuckling at the irritation he could sense emanating from her, he stepped forward until he all but crowded her against the wall. "Lighten up, girl. Learn to loosen that bonnet and enjoy yourself … But I wonder." He held her gaze with his own, immobilizing her with naught but his stare. "Are you as innocent as you smell," he mused softly to himself, brushing the pads of his fingers against her cheek, reveling in its delicacy and softness. "You certainly feel it … Ah, well, we shall find out in due time." He leaned toward her until his lips touched her earlobe in a feathery light caress. "Until then," he murmured, his breath brushing against her ear, the sensation not altogether unpleasant. "I look forward to unraveling your delights." Then he was gone, disappearing around the corner of the hallway, leaving a flustered Bonnie to stare after him in bewildered silence.

* * *

Kol Mikaelson was intrigued.

It wasn't often that he found his thoughts overwhelmed with the desire to make good on the promise of pleasure to be found between a pair of beautiful thighs.

But the newest arrival possessed a fiery, passionate nature that was as noteworthy as it was thrilling, one he was more than willing to explore. And that was not all. There was a certain power about the pretty, little darling that he had not sensed in a long time, raw, untapped power that would be glorious when it succeeded in reaching its full potential. He would be wise to keep an eye on this one.

"Am I no longer of any importance that you seek to ignore all semblance of civility and refuse me entrance into your _fine _establishment, brother?"

At the familiar sound of Elijah's chiding tone, Kol rolled his eyes and smirked at the sight of his older brother standing rigidly in what passed for a parlor in his house of ill repute. Too often Elijah had urged him to either sell his business or burn the building to the ground, but as he rather enjoyed his work, he happily declined his suggestions every time and further cemented his decision by offering to give him the full, _grand_ tour. Naturally, he declined, seeing as he was one of the few men who actually disbelieved in the notion of variety and opted instead to embrace polygamy. Poor sod. "Would I do such a thing?" He inquired innocently.

"If it suited you to, yes." Elijah shook his head, as though exasperated. "Despite what you may believe, I did not come here today with intentions of arguing over your poor choice in profession."

"Oh?" He quirked an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. If his brother's visit afforded him a reprieve from the boredom which constantly plagued him, then he could at the very least hear him out.

"We have matters of grave importance to discuss, you and I."

Kol inwardly groaned at that. Didn't they always?

* * *

Caroline stood at the alter with Tyler, the man she had chosen to unite her family with, fully prepared and nigh craving the opportunity to take on the duties and responsibilities of a wife — and she would have been granted her wish if not for the fact that one man saw fit to ruin it for her by _rudely_ disrupting a ceremony he had no business attending in the first place.

But with his sudden arrival came a vexing revelation.

Her dreams of the perfect union had not only gone up in tangible smoke but they had already set sail for parts unknown, no longer quite as attainable as before — and she had this arrogantly smirking man to thank for that.

"If those are the terms, then I must admit I have a little something to say about that." His deep baritone echoed throughout the crowded room, the silence deafening in the wake of his arrival. As he cast a smug glance around the room, his narrow-eyed, searching gaze positively brimming with confidence, he waited only until his men had slipped inside to spread out in a bid to prevent the bravest of the lot from attempting an escape before his gaze finally settled upon the unsettled bride-to-be and her bristling groom. "Let's just say that holding my peace is not exactly in my nature."

Hand hovering threateningly over the hilt of his sword, Klaus regarded Tyler with jealous resentment, stifling the urge to rip off that wandering hand of his for daring to touch Caroline, even if it was only meant to provide comfort. So this was the boy determined to dig his own grave by claiming that which did not belong to him, hm? Well, he could certainly accommodate him if it was truly his desire to meet such an end.

"Just who do you think you are?" The naively foolish boy demanded with all the haughtiness of a lord-in-training.

"Yer rude awakening, boy," Klaus countered with an arch of his eyebrow, as though challenging him to act upon the aggression he could feel in the air around him, fueling the intensity of his emotions. "Now you look a … clever sort." There was a certain degree of skepticism in his voice that said he believed otherwise. "I wager yer not looking to die anytime soon, so If I were you, I'd still that hand of yers before it lands yer bloody arse in a world of pain you can't get away from."

Predictably, Tyler acted upon impulse and lunged at him with every intention of cutting him down, oblivious to the fearful, strident cries of his bride to halt at once, lest he lose a limb. Much to the horror of the guests, his attack proved the catalyst, and chaos was swift to ensue on a aggressive wave of swashbuckling pirates hellbent on taking control. "Damn you, blackguard!" Tyler hissed with frustration when Klaus neatly evaded the swipe of his sword. "You will die for this!" He vowed as he charged him, again and again, meeting every parry and thrust with his own, searching for a chink to target in his opponent's otherwise expert swordsmanship. Any weakness would do.

Lips curved to emphasize his enjoyment, Klaus easily parried the barrage of attacks, then shifted into position to offer a counterattack of his own, the blade slicing through fine, silk material to pierce the skin beneath, drawing blood. To say that he was overjoyed by this turn of events was a mild understatement for what he was feeling. "Ah, first blood! Shame on you, boy. Yer father will be so very disappointed in you," he taunted, relishing the sight of Lockwood's blood staining the sleeve of his shirt. But that was before he shot a quick glance in Caroline's direction, the compulsion to do so too damn impossible to ignore, and immediately recognized the telltale signs of a starving vampire in her, especially given the trance she appeared to have fallen under upon scenting the blood in the air. Her pallor a sickly shade of white, the lovely blue of her eyes sported a stark expression of dread as they became fixated on the arm he'd purposely cut as he sought to teach the boy a lesson.

But said boy failed to notice that something was amiss and used the diversion to his advantage, throwing all of his strength into this next swing and nearly taking Klaus's arm with it.

Tyler would have laughed with glee at the prospect of silencing that bastard for good if Caroline hadn't chosen that exact moment to barrel into him, catching him completely off guard. "Caroline, what—" He started to ask, but broke off abruptly the moment he saw her elongated fangs.

Gripping the back of his neck to hold him in place, Caroline struck without warning, sinking her fangs into his throat with wild abandon. It happened so quickly that Tyler had no time to call out before she was on him, greedily taking that which she had sworn never to feast upon again; only a monster would willingly take blood from another, and she was not the monster her father no doubt deemed her as. It mattered not that she'd had no other choice but to take from the vein in the past. This time was different. This time she craved the kill, was even thrilled by the thought of it.

And Klaus … He _wanted_ to give her that experience, considered allowing it all of a second before he came to the decision to intervene — for he knew how the girl functioned. If she turned out to be responsible for the boy's death, she would never find the willpower to live with what she had become and would likely seek a way to expunge herself of the terrible burden she would be forced to bear. Such was an outcome he was determined to avoid.

Carefully, he curled his fingers around her nape, momentarily distracted by the feel of her skin against his but stubborn enough to subdue it with the promise of having her all to himself later this night. "Stop, Caroline," Klaus ordered calmly, lightly grazing the pad of his finger along her hairline and down the curve of her neck. "Unless you intend for him to die, best step away." As anticipated, the soothing sound of his voice and his tender touch was providing a necessary distraction to her more baser urges, and when she turned to him for comfort, he accepted her embrace without hesitation, his arms sliding around her slender waist to enclose her in a circle of protection that as of now only extended to a very select few. "That's a good girl." He grinned at the look of confusion on her face, not at all surprised when she jerked out of his arms to scowl at his audacity.

He was a stranger to her, after all.

Her attention was abruptly diverted, however, when she finally took note of Tyler's state. Caroline gasped, both shocked and horrified by what she had nearly accomplished with her lack of self-restraint. What was more, she had done this terrible deed in front of the whole assemblage, those of whom were now staring at her as though she was the worst sort of monster imaginable, terror clouding their vision, causing widespread panic as they searched for an escape amid all the chaos.

"My God, what have I done?" She whispered, dropping to her knees beside Tyler, for once not thinking of how she had lost the chance for normality amongst her peers. "Tyler, I ..." Her voice trailed off as she squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to glimpse the condemnation and the ill will she knew they now harbored for her.

Klaus shared a frown with Gage that spoke volumes of his mental conflict. Naturally, he was inclined to let the boy die, but Caroline would undoubtedly find fault with his every action from this point forth and refuse to adhere to his orderly, controlling existence, thus make their time spent together all the more difficult to endure. At least this way, she would be beholden to him.

"Orders, Cap'n?" Unsurprisingly, Gage could sense his intentions and was now most likely formulating a plan of escape, the intuitive bastard.

"Get yer arses back to the _Enilora _and prepare to sail," he commanded with a curt nod in the direction of the docks. "We have a schedule to maintain." Then, with a reluctant grunt, he severed the restraints on his self-control and allowed the scent of blood to tease his beast, prompting its appearance. His features morphing to accommodate his dual nature — one of which fought for supremacy and was permitted temporary victory — golden eyes peered down into the beautifully devastated, angelic face of Caroline as he lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit into the as of no longer smooth, undamaged skin. Gaze still locked upon her face, willing her eyes to open, he knelt on the other side of Tyler and shoved his bleeding wrist against his mouth, waiting only until the other male had weakly latched onto his wrist before giving into the temptation to touch her. "There, there, sweetheart. He'll survive." He gently trailed his fingers through the thick, silky strands of her lustrous blonde locks. "You've nothing to fear on that score."

Her eyelids flickered, then slid open to reveal the mesmerizing blue of her orbs, made even more luminescent with the presence of her tears. "He lives?" She asked hopefully, desperate for it to be true.

He smiled, but it was one that sent chills down her spine. "Aye. He will." Then, to her utmost shock, Klaus snapped his neck. "Eventually."

* * *

**AUTHORS' NOTES**: Thank you guys so much for your continued support! It means the world to us! In any case, so there you have it, the second installment to Tides of Conspiracy. Don't hesitate to leave us with reviews! We appreciate any and all comments and critiques. Again, thank you!


	3. Tides of Chance

**Tides of Conspiracy**

Chapter Three: Tides of Chance

* * *

"Is this the example you wish to set?" said one while the other thought a bitter _oh-here-it-goes_. And so, as ever when the eldest and youngest went toe to toe, came out the chiding tone of the Original's voice of reason. "Have you forgotten you hold the title of uncle now?" Elijah stated rather than questioned, his tone even and rapt with endless – well, nearly – patience, though he did fixate a stern, parental look of keen expectation upon his youngest, surviving brother. "Your actions leave great impressions, Kol, and you have a responsibility to this family to serve honorably the duties of a noble role."

Kol raised an eyebrow, arched high with contempt and rimmed with overshadowed doubt. "He's adopted, Elijah, not to mention _mortal_ blooded." His nose perked, twitching with snobbish distaste. "He's not one of _us_. It's hardly a concern to me that you felt the preposterous need to bolster that ridiculous ruse as Lord almighty-fucking-noble with a little Christ of a Jesus child."

"Kol Mikaelson, cease before I draw need to permanently shut that disrespectful trap," the eldest Mikaelson threatened in that rare tone of contempt he saved specifically for drastic situations – which, let's face it, practically equated to being constantly on the reserve for his rakish brother of the illest repute.

He didn't mean the brother he hadn't seen in years either, the one whom was rumored to be a terror of the seas these days.

He meant Kol, whose despicable career was throwing their whole family under a nefarious magnifying glass. They didn't need this sort of attention.

At least Niklaus was clever enough to keep his name a legend, one so grand town folk and sailors alike bought it as the tall tale of a myth and not a grain of truth more.

But Kol hardly took any measures of precaution, threw them to the blasted wind, was as unpredictable as the blooming weather, and was most certainly not the sort one readily depended or relied upon.

"If you've come merely to chastise my way of life, dearest brother, I beg of you to leave me to my damned wicked ways," Kol snapped back, tone ridden with an unforgiving, sarcastic bite as though in mockery of the eldest sibling, at least the one he lived with, over his high-horsed attitude. "You are not my father, _Lordio_, and hold no authority over my will, much less my actions." He crossed his arms childishly and glowered at his nobly calm sibling. With that said, he moved to leave, shoving past him without a lick of modulated respect, all the while thinking perhaps it was time he moved out and fetched himself his own estate. He'd survived for hundreds of years and still thrived in this day and age; it was bloody time everyone stopped treating him like a child!

"Now if you would excuse me. I have ladies to attend to," Kol huffed by means of indicating that his level of tolerance had once more managed to hit rock bottom, wanting nothing more to do with their conversation.

Elijah reacted on reflex, snatching up his brother by the neck and slamming the insolent brat's spine against the wall, although not in a manner intending to hurt him as it was meant to pin him in place long enough to bloody damn well listen.

"You would do well to start heeding my words, for your insistence upon forcing my hand will only render you in pain, my brother," Elijah said with every note of seriousness edging his voice gruff, eyes narrowed as if confused by his brother's sanity for questioning it. "We are family, Kol. That bond matters."

At the mention of family, Elijah loosened his grip upon his neck but was intelligent enough to keep Kol pinned in place, searching for any sense of comprehension in his kid brother's eyes. Though it went unspoken, his actions said enough. He was doing what he felt was best in his endeavor to ensure no harm befell the ungrateful sod.

Kol grunted, legs dangling as he threw a fit but relented quick enough, loathe to make such a fool of himself, and instead just shrugged Elijah's choke-hold away, the malice of glowering contempt still broiling in the glint of his optics. But he was notably calmer. Perhaps even a smidgen more respectful.

Well, that was arguable, but at least he was listening.

"Fine. Beyond your insufferable if not screw-worthy wife, what has your knickers in such a blasted twist?" Kol spat, not quite ready to succumb all control over to his rigid, often self-contained brother. "And what has it got to do with me?"

"It has to do with _all_ of us." Elijah shifted, angling his head at a curious tilt of intent. "If you catch my drift." The lord took a patient step back, then gestured with the motion of his head for Kol to move away from the promiscuous establishment's wall. "Surely you can spare a few minutes for the sake of your family."

Kol looked ready to protest, but to his credit thought better of it and though he relented, he still shoved childishly against Elijah with an immature elbow, making a bit of his typical fuss. "Say what you must then. But know that with every breath you utter is a moment you're depriving the strumpets of what they crave."

"Your _ladies_ will survive a few moments longer," Elijah stated with a touch of sarcasm and heaved a soft sigh that seemed to suggest he was done fighting with his rakish brother's flare-up insolence. "Do you recall the message in a box that was recently delivered?"

"What, that hideously grotesque shrunken head?" Kol shrugged, as though it was of no great concern to him, and strolled toward the hearth, where he picked up a bottle of aged whiskey from the mantle and went about pouring himself a drink without bothering to offer one to the stiff. "What of it? I gathered it was merely a gag."

It was a good thing he was a man of patience and virtue, for few others save Elijah would have responded with such tact by rolling his eyes in negative response to Kol's rude ignorance. "It was a warning, Kol, and you know it as well as I. But it is not only that – lately I have been consumed with the impression of being followed. Someone is watching us."

That caught the attention of the vain vampire, who always rather appreciated the idea of having all eyes on him. "So what? You're a powerful lord with a newborn heir and a bonny, respectful wife to boot. Do yourself a favor and revel in the attention, brother," Kol murmured, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world and shot back a mouthful of the vile drink, which did little to tide away his craving for fresh, hot blood straight from the vein.

"I fear the five have been reborn."

And just like that, the brevity of the situation dissipated. Fingers slackening in shock, the tumbler slipped from his grasp, the glass shattering upon impact as he struggled to confidently question a half-mocking "Are you sure about that?" To which Elijah only gravely nodded. "Aye, Kol, I am."

* * *

For a moment, amid the commotion and chaos, relief filled the lungs of our favorite heroine – but it was an immature sense of security, a real eye of the storm, as within seconds of believing firmly in his promise of aid, the blasted pirate broke her fiance's neck, snapped it clean like a twig.

The hurricane of emotions crashed back at the sight of Tyler lying limp and lifeless on the floor, his cheeks, once golden, now a death cold pallor with lips still stained with the mark of blood.

This blackguard's blood.

A curious stipulation she had yet to grasp the meaning of – as she failed to reemember the minute details of her own transition or how it had come to par. All she recalled was waking up to the torching scorch of sunlight.

Just as all she saw was her now deceased fiance.

Or did, until she shot angst by way of a heated glare up at the man – no, monster – who might as well have torn a hole straight through her chest in his selfish mission to squeeze out what little life her heart had left.

Tyler had represented the only hope for a normal life she'd been afforded, and now with this one dastardly action, it was gone.

"You liar!" She spat, a rightfully scorned woman dressed as a bride, brandishing about the simple bouquet she wielded like a weapon, strangely fearless – or perhaps too far lost to give a blimey chagrin. "You filthy, lying cheat! How dare you be so bloody heartless!"

But much to her growing fury, he gave her a look that plainly stated, '_do_ _you honestly believe you could possibly fend me off with those? Really?_' Before he took it a step further and cut the in-bloom heads clean off, with an arch of a blade and metaphorical rain of crimson and alabaster petals that flutter down to land on and around Tyler's lifeless face, in a way that he thought was damn well bloody artistic.

Klaus, not bothering to correct her wrong assertion over the designation of his honesty, cast the room a steely once over with an analytical scan, his cuttingly keen eyes honing in on the deathly silent crowd, those of whom were beginning to edge toward him. Though his men had made quick work of the few foolish enough to rush immediately forth, it was the ones awaiting their moment of attack, with their bloody noble do-good plots, that concerned the age-old Pirate at this present time.

He could sense the airs of a hunter within their midst and sniffed just to be certain. He was. His wolf prickled to awareness, lured out by the foresight of instincts.

_Looks like the festivities are over._

"Well, well, what do you know, love," he husked with a devilishly dimpling grin. "It appears yer suddenly wanting of my services." Before she could protest, his lean but well-defined forearm hooked around her corset-sculpted waist and whisked the light angel effortlessly over the corpse of the groom foolish enough to have tried to claim her, naturally anchoring his newest charm to his side, where it turned out she fit like the missing half of a treasure map against his jutting hip. _Marvelous_.

"Come, Caroline. We mustn't dilly-dally." He looked her up and down, a heated look between man and woman, one rapt with twice the sexual tension given his time at sea and her virginal anger. "But what of Tyler!" On the heels of her protest Klaus was already cutting her off with a click of a tongue so sharp it cut through ear drums. "Forget about him," he advised with the bitter realization that that might not be such a good idea and a grimace that caused a temporary shadow to cast the expression of gloom upon his wolfish features.

Without another word, he hoisted her fair frame navel-first across his shoulder and cemented her in place with a hand dangerously near her rump, enjoying how it kept her thighs pressed firm against his chest – pity they were covered in so much blasted fabric.

Caroline belted out an instant scream, and her cries filled the entire great hall, the noise bolstered by a responding chorus of break-out yells erected as the mob of guests grew angrier, until it raged and incited, chanting such things as kill the witch and burn the bloody bitch.

Standing among those wishing ill will upon her was her father, who had yet to look away from her face, as though memorizing her features. Why wasn't he rushing to her rescue? Did he truly loathe that which she'd had no choice but to become, so much so that he was willing to see her die for it? No, not her father.

_Impossible._

Then, before her very eyes, the restless crowd swallowed him whole, and that was when all hell broke loose.

The mob made its move, dead-set on doing away with the nefarious pirate and worse, Caroline – the lady they had but moments ago worshipped in jealous envy, now just another monster in their eyes. It was that very thought which proved the catalyst to the strangest sense of protective rage, all but growling his claim on the woman he carried down the aisle, one arm securing her with all his strength while the other chopped the gullet out of anyone who dared get close.

Three did, their deaths ringing in consecutively short order marked by ghoulish pain-staking screams, all three that he relished with glee until at long last the foolish humans caught the drift of his supremacy and backed the damn well down. _Good_; so they possessed at least the good sense to value their pitiful lives more than any valiant attempt to play the hero, appreciating their struggles enough to seek out survival at any cost rather than forfeit their tedious existence.

Perhaps then he could spare them to fight another day.

Interesting creatures, but none the less a shame, for he wouldn't have minded a little more swords play, if only to impress the lady tossed about his shoulder.

Then again, given the way she writhed and struggled against him, desperate for freedom yet a hapless victim to the ironclad hold his century's old strength provided, the beauty didn't appear exactly impressed by anything he'd accomplished thus far. But she _did_ put up an admirable effort to free herself despite the hopelessness of the situation, and it was that enthusiasm which he hoped she carried over into other things, such as in the coming together in sealing the bond of mate. _Soon_. Indeed. She would be his.

He had decreed it long ago.

Which meant it had been awhile since he'd taken from a woman the pleasures he sought, but vexing though that thought might be, he knew that soon enough he'd finally be offered the opportunity to reap the treasure hidden amidst those thighs, whose thin, delicate length tightened against the palm eagerly strapping them still as he parried and clashed against one last suicidal fool who rushed suddenly forth, finding courage under the blasphemous notion of gaining the upper hand against an unprotected back.

Klaus particularly enjoyed the sound of his blade squelching through the soft depression of flesh at the base of the peasant's neck, dark flecks sparking his cores to flash with a golden, malice glow as droplets of blood gushed from the wound and bled in a tempting foray down the mortals neck, soaking a crimson stain into the white of his shirt that matched the splatter which marked the white ruffles on Klaus's sleeve.

With a satisfied grunt, he yanked the blade out and held it up temporarily to eye his own handiwork, admiring how the thick coating darkened the tip of his blade. "Hungry love?" He teased in the midst of imagining feeding it to her, strangely aroused by the mental rendering, or perhaps that was the lovely creature in question herself, still slung over his shoulder who only now gave up the valiant fight to wiggle free. Chuckling, he swiftly sheathed his sword, pleased to note that she'd finally come to her bloody senses.

Or so it had appeared until he realized it was ironically her sense _of_ blood – as in, the humans' – that had her tensed with need.

So the chit was still bound to her blood-thirst. _How positively delightful._ It was a recently discovered fact that he was quick to diabolically store away for later use.

Still, despite having partaken of a feeding, her beast's craving was wildly reacting to the commotion of the scene, her emotions no doubt extenuating the situation, heightened by her newly turned state and a vital lack of having a blood-sucking role model to guide her through the transition.

Though often labeled a heartless bastard, Klaus could all too well recall the horror, disgust and anguish of his own transformation, a vile experience that had only been bearable with the mantra of _always and forever_.

Perhaps it was time he put an end to her torture – not to mention there was that hunter he had yet to encounter. Had the bastard fled in fright? Klaus could only hope to be so lucky.

Having the speed to whisk her out of here in a flash, the hesitance to do so had only been to show off, wearing the mask of confidence as he easily safeguarded her from danger even if she insisted on making the task all the more difficult by pounding furious fists against the lean, rounded muscles of his back. He growled in pleasure when her tiny hands grabbed fistfuls of unkempt hair and gave them vicious yanks.

If she had even half this enthusiasm in his bed, they were in for a passionate affair.

"Blimey, love, aren't you a dishy one," he teased, still in half a mind to woe her the right way instead of just plunder away. But then again, it had been quite the tortuously long time at sea and her scent alone was tickling his cock's sense of mighty desperate possession. In other words, the inborn urge to thrust her back against a wall and tear away that dress for a good ravaging was overlooked only by his admirable level of control.

And a need to get her somewhere where these foul-breathed cretins couldn't lay a hand on her.

His only thought to procure her safety, he zoomed with precision all the way out of the building and out into the alleyway, somehow ignoring the primal urge to take her right then and there.

It might not have been a trait he was known for, but self-restraint was a weapon he wielded with deadly accuracy and a meticulously tedious obsession. His wild, deadly outbursts the stuff of legends of which summed up the reputation blackening his infamy. But those were nothing compared to the ones he'd throw if he didn't clamp such a festering foot above his own emotions.

Refusing to let go, just as he refused to relent his – as she called it – inappropriate claim on her deliciously curved derrière, Klaus laughed richly, the sound oddly jolly as though he was earnestly pleased with himself. "I find it interesting how ye seem to think ye have a choice in the matter, child," he affirmed, asserting his dominance with a silken, polished growl as he swung her down to be cradled in the crook of a vain-popping forearm.

She shrieked and went to slap him, but he caught her wrist, suspending it inches from contact, gaze boring down into the fiery sea of cerulean eyes as thick, bulbous lips slowly stretched into the wicked smirk of a pleased villain. "Now, now, my sweet poppet. That's no way to treat your savior."

"You are not my savior " Caroline screeched, shaking with rage and overcome with emotion wrapped up in nearly killing her lover. She refused to admit that it had been this hideous example of a creature that had spared her the agony of murdering her groom, refused to accept the fact that he'd helped her at all as gospel.

"Just you wait until my father recruits his fleet! He'll find and rescue me, and then you'll be sorry, you foul-mouthed simpleton!" This only seemed to further amuse the tall, dark mysterious vampire who literally laughed off the threat – all to Caroline's aggravation.

"I very much doubt that, pet," he replied tactfully in a silken husk fanned out as a hot whisper against her ear, the tip of his nose all but nuzzling the back of her lobe, still securing her close with the brawny length of his arm tangled about her waist that kept her hoisted firmly to his hip.

She blinked, stunned by his flippant nonchalance and lack of fear, her father being the sort of man who typically inspired it. She wasn't quite sure how to react to his bemused expression softening the rogue's expression. Her face whirled through a handful of emotions before finally settling on what he perceived to be scorn. "You insufferable oaf! What business have you in crashing a lady's wedding!? Did your mother never impart upon you a sense of manners or common decency!?"

"Ah, how curious, love. I discern it fair to claim yer father told ye naught of me." This threw her for the loop he manipulatively expected it to, that angelic brow knitting in a crinkle of confusion as she made to comprehend this newly given fact. Klaus quirked a brow set with a matching dimpled smirk and even had the cheek to wink flamboyantly.

"W-w-what is this nonsense you speak?" She chided, stuttering as the touch of anxiety struck. Her father was an honorable man; surely he couldn't be in league with such a dirty, notorious rake! "I know what this is!" She spat suddenly with the eagerness of epiphany coloring her tone a confident hue. "This is all just a coy game to trick me into trusting you! Well, sir, I won't fall for it!" She shot him a glare, flashing fangs that had yet to retract. "I am much too clever for that! Now remove those bastardly hands from my body, you good for nothing thief!"

Klaus growled, proving moody as his merriment morphed into a nasty show of temper – instant resentment flaring up at her words and by instinct, he turned on her, fingers clamped like tiny stakes around the petite shoulders he shook with the spark of rage, which was again a show of restraint, coming from the man who would sooner snap necks than hand out second chances like he vexingly did for her.

"Go then, flee," he snarled, letting her go physically but keeping the dove trapped in place by the glint of a searching eye-lock. "Take yer chances against those ye once called friend, see if they'll be willin' ta save yah from the wrath of those who'll gaze upon you now and only see a bloodthirsty monster," he hissed, pupils swelling to express his sincerity, the undertones woven into his accent, carrying the personal expression of pain, the edge of first hand experience.

"See if it doesn't endanger any of those selfless enough to still care. But mark my words, Sweetheart. This ain't something ye want to be doing now. _Trust me_." Her eyes snapped up to lock with his at this, as though startled he'd ask such a thing of her. "Yer better off taking yer chances with me," Klaus ensured with an atypical note of sincerity fluffing up the promise.

"Who are you?" Caroline questioned, the bite to her tone less intense now though still hesitant to agree with the logic he'd wickedly painted out. Her mind didn't want to buy it, but her heart knew it was true. Those that used to love her could no longer, for even her father had gazed upon her with different eyes from the moment he'd discerned what she'd become.

No longer human.

No longer his precious little child, and though not disowned, no longer truly the daughter he'd raised.

Who could love such a monster of the night? Who could love a woman who at the scent of blood nearly killed her own groom? Who was left for a vampire to trust, save another of her kind?

His words struck home, swelling a hit against her heart and those strings that strung it up, plucking them with the bitter twist of that painful reality left to face. Caroline swallowed, fighting back the overwhelming need to cry. She refused to cry, could not, in front of this scoundrel who'd likely only use it against her.

Such thoughts were crippling, however, and left a sense of nervous, overwhelming pressure which continued to build up behind her temples. She rubbed at them with frantic fingers, as if intending to massage the tension out and the answers in.

Only, no answers came.

She wanted to flee, but common sense kept her grounded and firm where she stood a shaking mess. Where would she go? Who'd take her in and offer shelter from those determined to be rid of the monster she'd become? Sure, she could compel her way to freedom, force humans' minds to bend to her will – a trick she'd discovered quite by accident, when delivering orders to the menfolk who worked for her father, those who had once gone about ignoring her. But even if she did that, it would be a lonely existence, without friends or family.

Would it be so bad then to be in the company of another of her kind, the first she'd met since the night she'd been turned? But even then, it had only been in hindsight that she'd realized she'd had a run in with a vampire. Caroline swallowed again, the muscles in her gullet struggling to push the saliva down, nostrils flaring as her gaze raked over the confident posture of this ancient, powerful creature who rewrote the meaning of swagger.

Searching, desperately, for any sign of good within the pulsing promise of darkness – something Klaus was certain she wouldn't find, but it wouldn't hurt to allow her this look-see. False hopes could prove a powerful bartering point, as he was determined despite all her spitfire scorn to add this treasure to his collection.

Right on time, Declan's voice chimed out behind him, in that ever eager-to-please tone that admittedly could humor the darkest of moods. "Orders, Cap'n?" He inquired lightheartedly, casting a bemused grin between the two as if he'd just walked in on a much more compromising scenario. Gage even had the gall to waggle his eyebrows quite suggestively at Klaus, who gave him a warning glare that all but threatened the loss of his tongue if he did not desist with his ridiculous antics.

"Escort this Queen to her ship, Declan. I have a man to see about an old deal," Klaus said with a mysterious air, before narrowing his peepers into an intimidating glare at his hybrid. "And Gage, I assume I need not remind ye what travesty will befall the hands of any fool who dares touch what is mine."

At the expected nod of his first mate, the pirate returned his hot, lingering gaze to the woman who still smelled of disguised fear. "Ye can trust this man, poppet. Do as he says," he stated in a whisper meant only for the woman's ears, by means of easing the anxieties he saw riddling her twinkling eyes, and guided the captive lady toward his loyal hybrid with a gentle tap administered to her back.

"Aye, aye Cap'n," Declan promised with a cheeky salute, before flashing a playfully eccentric wink Caroline's way. "To the _Enilora_ then. It's a mighty fine ship, Milady. I think you'll find its _size _impressive," he teased in a way that caused Klaus to throw him a cold look in silent scolding. But Gage merely laughed it off and offered the lady the crook of his arm, clever enough to know that if he didn't treat her like the lady she was, the captain would swab the deck with his innards.

Literally.

He'd seen him do it before, when one of the boys had dared plot mutiny. Silly fool.

* * *

"That was lovely, darling, but there remains one more thing I desire from you," Kol said to the maid on her knees while loosening his tie.

His praise was apparently pleasing to the strumpet whose swooning smile stood as the tell-tale sign outlining her pathetic adoration. "_Anything_ for you, Cain," the petite blonde emphasized whilst fixing her disheveled bonnet and running the moist tip of a sensual tongue across the underside of her glistening upper lip.

Like a damned cat, mewing in heat.

_Fantastic. _He loved when compulsion wasn't necessary.

Then again, he loved when it was.

So he did, regardless of her natural state of compliance.

Besides, Elijah had made it blindly clear he needed to be more careful, and while Kol was loathe to relinquish his claim upon this illicit empire that he'd worked – quite hard, surprisingly – to build, that didn't mean he couldn't glean a hint of caution from his brother's testy advice.

Eyes boring into hers, pupils constricted only to dilate with a snap of focused intent, Kol smirked charmingly down at her. "We've had fun, love. Pity the only part of this evening's activities you'll recall is servicing a powerful lord with the aggravatingly overcautious preference to keep his identity under wraps. For political reasons, of course."

Anna just looked at him with eyes wide like saucers. He'd better test the waters. "You wouldn't want to ruin a man's reputation, now would you, poppet?" He inquired lightly, tipping up the cleft of her jaw with the hook of an arrogant finger and smirking with twisted smugness as she meekly muttered a "No, Milord."

The self-proclaimed King of the Dark strolled around the woman's quivering form then, the tips of shameless fingers brandishing a line of possession around the delicate curve of her silken neck, sensitive to the rhythm of her blood flow, as if carving out what he was about to claim.

It wasn't until he was behind her that Kol gestured for the dear to stand, lust-filled eyes shameless in their observation of her perfectly rounded posterior.

Relentlessly, he tore off her bonnet completely, disregarding the cheap hat with a flick of his wrist, and wielding an artfully seductive touch, one which drew aside her curtain of unruly curls that now danced loose down her back, he guided the locks with a tender touch to run a new cascade down the front of her right shoulder, exposing the whore's neck for his ravaging.

For now, however, it was her earlobe he targeted, with a tongue that expertly traced the outline of her canal and teeth that nipped the tip of her lobe. "But first, allow me to enhance your senses by the subtraction of one," Kol husked in a whisper that would melt the icy exterior of any frigid Queen, targeting her sense of sight with the tie that had hung unknotted about the nape of his neck, utilizing it as her blindfold.

But he didn't just put it on; oh no. Kol was far more clever than that – and careful to seduce the maid first, by intentionally dangling its silky fabric across the sensitive surface of her collarbone. Making her want it, beg for it, twisted in his attack on the subliminal senses; Nik wasn't the only artist in the family.

Kol's masterpieces just happened to be a tad bit bloodier.

When the knot was tightened, he tossed the woman belly first onto the bed and sped after her, reflexes lightning quick thanks to the gift of being an Original.

Relentlessly he pinned her in place, curled over the end of the mattress and bit with rapture into Anna's jugular, enjoying the way she writhed and shrieked.

However, before he could drain the beauty as he'd planned, or even take his fill of her, a strange disturbance in the air slammed into his senses, so sudden in its arrival that it caught his attention at once. Enticed, he unhooked his fangs, head lifting from the bloody wound as nostrils flared, sharply taking in the scent like an animal with crimson droplets dripping from his lips.

The woman was abandoned without thought or care, dropped down upon the bed with his tie still bound about her eyes, as he strolled curiously after the throbbing sense of energy that crackled through the air, which led him down the corridors. He ignored the whores who girlishly offered their services with hopeful winks and come hither finger waggles, forced to shove a particularly clingy one off who thought it wise to just grab her master, until he rounded upon the double French style doors that led to the kitchens.

Now wasn't this a curious sight.

Licking the remaining flecks of blood clean, Kol carefully opened the door, meticulous in his desire to not allow it to creak as it often did, desiring to catch a glimpse of whatever was transpiring before exposing his presence. Though even he didn't expect to see the newest addition to his brothel leaning against the counter, potato skins floating around her head, with a half peeled one tucked within her grasp. His lips quaked into a darkly handsome smile.

Well, well, well; little Bonnie Bennett was a witch.

* * *

Oh, he had a man to see about a deal, all right.

With footsteps echoing off the tiled stone, Klaus rapped his knuckles against the thick mahogany door, although the action was unnecessary in nature, for _here_ he no longer required invitation. The sound that he erected and was amplified through the great hall was but a timeless act of respect. Sure, he could have shown up right behind the pitiful fool; bloody hell, the lying twat deserved at least that for thinking to double cross him on a deal! But Klaus found himself in a strangely good mood, if only because the whole dramatic turn of events could_actually_work in his favor.

_Fantastic_.

Oozing confidence, he strolled down the art embellished hallways, hands drawn to a casual clasp behind his back, looking in no particular hurry. In fact, he even took the time to pause here and there, to study the intricate lines of paint or pleasing combinations of color with a keen eye for detail and a master's knowledge of design.

He knew most of them, and to be quite frank, it was almost like visiting old friends. Not to say they were all his. Some were made by the legends whose talent he'd admired enough to keep them alive, if only to analyze their own takes on art.

Klaus stopped by one in particular, lips quirking with a strangely self-indulgent smirk, and twisted to face the man who stalked out of the shadows. "Ah, I remember the day I left you with this. We were celebrating the success of our deal – or rather, _your_ success." Brows arched mockingly, his lips twisted with delight as he unclasped his hands and stepped closer. "Interesting thing, success, the drive for power, the constant bid to want more no matter the cost." Close enough to circle the man, he did now, hovering dramatically over his shoulder. "Even if, say, said price is a daughter."

There was silence for a moment, akin to the one where prey attempted to decide between the two opposing survival methods, fight or flight. Then, as if he'd gathered his courage, William spoke. "Niklaus, you must understand-" Klaus lost his patience here, speeding toward the human male who had once made a pass at him to land, back pressed ironically against that painting of a blonde angel, floating as the sun above the rough tides of sea.

The very painting he'd gifted William at the successful launch of his first shipping company.

"Let me tell you what I understand. I gave ye everything – I set you up for success and left yer precious, cargo-heavy ships alone. I let those same ships cross through seas that I own, and all I ever asked in return was one, teeny little favor." With the length of his forearm pinning William in place, the beastly hybrid bared his fangs and was once more forced to practice restraint when it came to suppressing the urge to snap his cheating neck.

"What I promised you was a favor. How was I supposed to know you'd claim my precious child?" William hissed, the protective gene activated at the reminder of the horrid mistake he'd made all those years ago as a newly-wed without a single shilling to his name and worse, a baby on the way.

He'd done what he'd had to ... for his family.

But now he wasn't so sure. Perhaps poverty would have been a safer option. His jaw tightened, clenched with broiling anger at both being so deceived and foolish for willingly making a deal with one of the bloody damned.

"I'll be damned if I didn't try to stop her. But she is near an impossible woman to deny," William declared, not that it settled the fury raging inside the expressive features currently molded with loathing anger. Anger that only popped in near uncontrollable violent out-lashes, "Dare ye paint me the monster here? That's the funny thing about you humans. Ye feign innocence behind the mask of etiquette and decency, but the unjust truth of the matter is that ye all have a price." Klaus shoved his arm tighter against William's chest, damned well stealing the man's breath by nearly suffocating his lungs. "Yers just happened to be your daughter."

Klaus let him go then, backing off with a disinterested smirk and a mocking salute in wave of biding his ado. "Just be rememberin'' that ye betrayed me, so the deal's off." He shrugged those broad shoulders into a rippling roll, his lupine grin flashing a deadly set of pearly teeth. "Consider yer port ripe for the pickings," he added before yanking the portrait that had always been one of his favorite pieces of work straight off the wall.

Call it metaphorical.

"Oh, by the by, I'm keeping Caroline." Her name rolled off his tongue as if he found her the most exotic of treasures. Then again, he was just as likely playing it up to wedge a salty dagger into those mental wounds he'd just laid.

With that, and a charmingly cheeky "Toodaloo!" Klaus was gone, leaving Bill to wallow in the gross aftermath of what he'd done.

* * *

Dizzy, Anna brought a hand to neck, feeling about the slender ravaged throat, grimacing with a sailor's curse as her hand came away glistening wet. But it wasn't a man's ejaculation that cooled her fingers; though for a moment, she'd hoped it would be, before yanking free the blind fold and noting the crimson red.

Blood.

_Vampires_.

They really did exist.

So the mysterious benefactor hadn't been lying, after all. At first, she'd thought the wealthy woman just some closet opium head, but this confirmed the crazy tales Anna had originally laughed at.

It was a good thing she'd been paid enough to do as instructed, and for a minute she considered if that was what had saved her life – afraid she'd nearly been a goner to the erotic whims of Cain – as she arose from the bed and sauntered – okay, more like stumbled – toward her vanity, yanking open the small drawer typically reserved for make-up (okay, so booze filched from the adjoined tavern) and pulled out the package of Vervain, ingesting the daily dose with more vigor then she had the day's previous.

* * *

Caroline couldn't remember ever feeling so many emotions in her life; anger, irritation, shock, joy, awe, disbelief, denial, rage, thirst, desperation, fear, and even a touch of arousal warred within the contents of her mind, and as the one he'd called Gage (or was it Declan?) led her down the familiar harbors of crisscrossed docks, she couldn't help but face doubts over what she'd agreed to.

To go along willingly, and as this doubt swelled and filled her, she couldn't help but question her own sanity. Where would she go? Did it matter? Was it really safest with him? Sure this Gaclan (it wasn't quite right, but at least it wasn't quite wrong) fellow seemed friendly enough, entertaining really, but perhaps that was exactly why she shouldn't trust him. Yet he'd told her – that blackguard – she could. Which granted, could have just been theatrics meant to trick her, but something about the way he'd looked at her, so earnestly and with almost the tick of desperation striking his eyes nostalgically sad, made her want to believe him.

But that was mad, pure nonsense, wanting to believe the word of a pirate!

Perhaps she was coming down with a fever; it would certainly explain her strange thoughts. It had been quite the stressful day, and by all accounts she was still rendered in a state of confused shock. But Caroline was smart, and with a smile that was all sunshine and rainbows, she cast her eyes upon the one buccaneer that gently guided her by the elbow. He was refined in a way, although a jokester, and Caroline couldn't help but get the impression he was not only older then he appeared – as many vampires she supposed were – but that he'd known the man he called _Captain_ for quite the assortment of years.

"Who is he?" She asked, large wide eyes desperate for answers, or more likely desperate to know whether it was sheer insanity to board a ship with known supernatural creatures. A fortnight ago – even yesterday – she would have laughed and said an adamant no, but after exposing herself to the entire great hall, after nearly killing the one she loved, everything had changed.

_Everything_.

"If ye don't know, ma'am, and he hasn't told ye, it would be best if I just didn't say a sole word more lest he decides I'd be better off without my tongue." Declan grinned at that, rather wickedly, and wiggled a stuck out tongue, again offering a friendly wink meant to keep her placidly calm and content. The last thing he needed was for the beauty to book it at the earliest opportunity, for then he'd be in for quite the Captain's lashing. "But between us girls, I sort of need it." Gage left it at that, aware that it was inappropriately suggestive, but he he'd meant naught by it beyond striving to be that ever present comic relief.

"C'mon right along then ... this way ... watch yer step ..." Gage went on, if only to keep up the conversation. However, his worst fears materialized when she cast her eyes upon the _Queen Enilora of the Sea _and got that look of dread in her eyes. _Ah, hell. Of all the foul luck_. Declan snatched to reach her, and for a second she complied, until a knee aligned with his groin and he crumpled in surprised pain, hissing as those blasted balls felt as if they'd exploded.

He went down, and she wasted little time in making a break for it, like the frightened doe she was.

So the lady was clever – and _fast._

How bloody fantastic.

Worse still; only a few marks of the candle remained before dawn, which meant he had until then to find her or dare face the wrath of Klaus.

* * *

It was cramped and dark when he came to, rigid body sore and aching – especially in the neck. Though it took him a moment, it wasn't long before Tyler realized he felt claustrophobic, and when he tried to move, hands and arms hit wood. With a gasp of panic, he tried to sit up, but only succeeded in smashing his head against a third restraint. That was when a terrifying realization sank in with the cold prick of death.

He was in a coffin.

_Buried alive._

Funny thing about stress, it happened to trigger things.

Such as anxiety attacks or headaches, and for some, it awakened a dormant werewolf gene.

* * *

**AUTHORS' NOTES**: Thanks for reading and we hope that you've enjoyed this latest installment. Now, a couple people have asked if it is mandatory to read the parts concerning the ships they do not sail, and in regards to that, this fic is interwoven with many of the plot details overlapping, but that being said, any straight up romance and or smut scenes that don't necessary further the story will come with warnings. But we really do suggest you give our takes on certain couples a chance, for we go about quite a few of them very differently than most and certainly promise to keep things interesting. Anyway, quite a few things were revealed this chapter or foreshadowed, so we hope you didn't skip over too many parts concerning those ships that you might not be on board with. Remember, your comments and suggestions are taken into serious consideration with every new addition to the story.


	4. Night of the Hunter

**Tides of Conspiracy**

Chapter Four: Night of the Hunter

* * *

Fear hung like a thundercloud over her head, bearing down upon the slender slope of her shoulders as Caroline pressed a dainty hand to her chest and took a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves. She had succeeded in freeing herself of the pirate's unnaturally bold, intimate grasp—should she not be celebrating this fact? Perhaps she would be if not for the way her peers had turned on her, abruptly and fiercely, their hatred so intense they had sought ways to curtail it in her immediate demise.

"Oh, papa," Caroline whispered, her eyes burning with suppressed tears. "What am I to do now?"

She couldn't possibly return home now. Far too many people were aware of her deepest, darkest secret and as a result deemed her expendable to their narrow-minded, unforgiving natures. She was not a monster! They knew naught of what they accused her of being, inclined to believe the worst of her if only because they had no experience in such matters. Their ignorance was her own personal demon risen from hell to torment her through all eternity. What would her parents expect of her now that others had finally been made aware of her condition? They had known, of course; her father had done everything within his power to protect her secret, but in the end, it had proved futile.

Nervously rolling her bottom, plump lip between her teeth as she considered her next course of action, Caroline cautiously peered around the corner of the wall, relieved to note the street's vacancy. But for the very few stragglers staggering home after a night of debauchery, she was thankfully alone. But was that truly what she desired, to be alone on this night, so far from home? "No," she muttered to herself, her voice so low and soft that it was a wonder she could hear it at all. Though a creature of the night, she craved companionship, had thought she'd found a companion in Tyler. Judging from the way she had quickly lost control around him, however, the wedding, their union, was not meant to be. Perhaps it never was. Disappointment filled her heart at that thought, the organ growing heavier and heavier by the minute as the grisly image of Tyler's ravaged neck flickered through her mind. She had come so very close to taking his life. What was to stop her from attempting it again? No. Tyler was not for her, and even if in her mind she'd conceived her condition to be easily controlled and chosen to return to him, she hadn't the faintest idea if the pirate had indeed saved his life. She wouldn't put it past the scoundrel to deceive her if it benefited him to do so.

Her lips curving downward in a show of distress, Caroline slowly inched away from the mouth of the alleyway, resignation sinking its claws into her mind, tainting her thoughts. No doubt that Gage fellow was searching for her even now, more than prepared to hand her over into the possessive, merciless care of his captain. She prayed he found naught to lead him to her current location. That dawn would come and end her torment. But her prayer went unheeded, for just as she came abreast of four old, abandoned crates stacked against the wall, a strong hand suddenly latched onto her arm, causing her to lash out without thought, the back of her hand making contact with a stubbly cheek.

At his surprised grunt, she inwardly cursed fate for throwing a nigh unsurpassable obstacle in the path of her escape. Ever a fickle mistress was Fate.

* * *

"Failure," the insidious voice of the hunter whispered into his ear, cold enough to freeze the blood in his veins and just as scornful. "Your father was right. You are useless, pathetic, your very existence a blight upon humanity, upon Earth and all she holds dear. Death is far too good for the likes of you—but suffrage … Now _there's_ a wondrous thought." As the voice continued to embellish on what he knew to be his poorest, most damning and negative qualities, mockery coating its tone, Klaus's fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword as he hastened to shove aside all thoughts of a man who had only ever seen fit to begrudge him the very air he breathed. He was the infamous scourge of the seas! There wasn't a man in all of Europe—perhaps even the world—who didn't quake at the mere mentioning of his name. Mikael, as he had come to discover these past few years, mattered naught.

"Does he now?" The hunter snorted, the sound obnoxious and derisive. "Or perhaps you hold his opinion in such high regard that you refuse to acknowledge its importance. Impulsive, you are, and foolish too. The girl is lost to you, boy. It is time you accept your inadequacy. You are not fit to bear the Mikaelson insignia_._"

"Silence!" Klaus hissed through his tightly clenched teeth, rigid, tensed lines bracketing his mouth, his piercing, narrow-eyed gaze cutting toward the docked ship as he stalked down the street, an air of intense danger about him that only served to emphasize his desire to be left alone.

"I think not." Laughter followed that announcement. "I am not so easily ignored_._"

A warning growl erupted from his throat, the only indication that he was fast approaching a level of tolerance he had yet to reach until this very moment, it seemed—but this cretin was determined to drive him to insanity.

Never again.

"You think to intimidate me, do you_? _I fear we are far past the point of intimidation, _boy_," the hunter murmured, a smug smirk in his voice. "Perhaps if you exert as much effort into preserving the life of your lady friend as you do in ignoring me, you might yet succeed at proving your father wrong. But I very much doubt such a thing is possible_." _There was a brief pause, loaded down with contempt and maliciousness, followed by a disdainful chuckle. _"_You are beyond redemption, mongrel_._"

Klaus visibly flinched, loathing the reminder of his status. It was much akin to a noose tightening about his neck, a restricting irritant but not in the least fatal, at least not in the way it was meant to be. But then he scowled, irritation quickly forming as soon as he was struck by a certain, vexatious realization. He was no longer that ridiculously naive child desperate to gain his father's approval. He had no need for it. "You will leave me be," he demanded in a harshly uttered voice, as though daring the fool to disregard his thinly veiled threat.

"I cannot," said fool countered, amused despite the situation. "After all, you are the reason I am here. Foolish you who has very little regard for another being's life. Is it not justice to see your pretty, little filly perish by your incompetent hand? Irony at its finest, no doubt."

"Enough!" He snarled, eyes darkening, veins emerging as he determinedly strove to deter his inner beast from taking over, angrily thrusting a hand through the long, disheveled strands of his dark blonde hair if only to distract himself from his own thoughts. "Do not force me to make the same demand twice."

"In denial, are you?" The hunter shook his head and gave him a mockingly pitying look. "You have only yourself to blame, you know. Her death is on your hands."

Stumbling slightly as those wretched words echoed throughout his mind, taunting his inability to protect that which he had claimed long ago, Klaus reacted without thought, fingers curling even as he struck out at the nearest wall, his arm vibrating from the force of the impact—but still it managed to soothe his frayed temper, succeeded in drawing his attention away from the very notion of failure.

Bluntly stated, failure simply was _not_ in a Mikaelson's nature. They hardly knew the meaning of the word, and he would be damned if he proved the exception to that strict rule.

Her death was intolerable.

It was as simple as that.

* * *

"Yer a difficult woman ta track down, ma'am, I'll give ye that," Gage said, giving Caroline's arm a gentle pat as though secretly proud of that fact. And why wouldn't he be? His captain deserved a woman perfectly capable of standing on her own two feet. Damsels were all good and fun, but he knew Klaus better than most; the Original hybrid wouldn't be satisfied with a woman of weak sensibilities. He'd need a strong one capable of looking after herself, and the little missy seemed to possess all the traits required to aid her in that. "Now we best be on our way." He offered her a small, encouraging grin as he quickly guided her along the street toward the docks. "If he returns to the ship only ta find ye gone, there's no tellin' how he'll react."

"Wait." Caroline dug her heels into the ground, not too keen on the idea of returning to the pirate. In fact, she would have much preferred to have gone utterly unnoticed. Perhaps then, she could have found a way to return her life to its previous state without losing all she held dear. But Fate, as she would soon come to discover, had other plans for her. "Please. You must release me at once. I refuse to be his prize!"

But Gage immediately shook his head, urging her to walk faster as though afraid she was on the verge of making yet another run for it. "Can't. He would have me head if I allowed ye to escape."

"A tempting thought," the deep, brusque voice neatly sliced through the atmosphere to enshroud them in a blanket of compellingly potent tension so thick there was very little chance of slipping free of it. Shocked, Caroline's head shot up to fix the intruder with a fierce, albeit nervous, scowl. He would forever be a thorn in her side, or so it appeared—he would always be there to dash her hopes, crush her dreams, send her desires careening out of her control, all the while smirking in the face of her surrender. "Leave us." At his tersely worded command, Gage dipped his head in understanding and beat a hasty retreat toward the ship, where the crew awaited their last-minute orders.

"Have ye no sense, woman?" Klaus snapped, the hunter's words still ringing through his mind. _Her death is on your hands_. Eyes narrowed, he advanced forward with every intention of giving her the tongue-lashing of the century, but upon catching sight of the waned pallidness of her beautiful features, he slowly drew to a halt before her, far more in tuned to her emotions than one might assume was possible. "Fightin' it is futile. Ye only delay the inevitable."

"I refuse to believe that," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself as though to ward off the chill in the air when, in reality, it had little to do with the weather and everything to do with the man standing in front of her. "Please … let me go home."

"What home?" He growled, his tone abrasive. "Ye have no home. Yer father has abandoned ye. Yer lover wants nothin' ta do with ye. Yer peers want to see ye dead," he pointed out harshly, wanting her to see the truth in his words. Her home no longer resided with them, individuals who cared naught for her welfare and thought her monstrous and heinous, but with him, a man whose very existence had begun to depend on the mere thought of finally procuring her company after all this time. In the end, however, the wait had proved all but nonexistent, for time worked differently for him. As an immortal, it would, given how one with his infinite lifespan lived it. "Poor love. Ye truly have no idea of yer value."

"What do you mean?" Caroline asked sharply, pressing her lips together to form a thin line of distrust as she eyed him suspiciously. "I just want to go home. Take me home now!" She stomped her foot for emphasis and waited, uncaring of his own opinion on the matter. Regardless of what had occurred, there was no way she would go with this bastard willingly. As far as she saw it, he was the reason her secret had been outed. He was responsible for _everything_! If not for his interference, she would be happily wed to Tyler by now with none the wiser to her … condition.

"No," he responded curtly, reaching forward to wrap a perfectly curled strand of her luscious, blonde hair around his finger and giving it a sharp tug when she attempted to evade his hand by ducking her head. "Why fight me possession when I intend ta take care of ye?" It was what one did with their possessions, after all. She belonged to him, therefore she was his to look after.

She glared, angered by his implications. With a jerk of her head, she pulled free of his grasp—although he likely relinquished it in favor of allowing her this opportunity at independence—and turned to face away from him, arms folded protectively across her bosom. "I have no need of your brand of care," she tossed over her shoulder, growing tenser when she felt the unmistakable heat from his palm brush against the lower curve of her back. "Do _not_ touch me." But of course he took that for the engraved invitation it most certainly was not and pressed his palm flat against her back. She clenched her hands into tight fists, her nails leaving crescent moon shapes in her palms, as soon as she felt his touch, gentle but firm as he encouraged her compliance, slowly turning her until her eyes had no choice but to lock upon the strong column of his neck, as she was determined to avoid meeting his gaze no matter the circumstances.

"Are ye sure that's what ye want?" He slid his hand upward along the curve of her back until it reached her shoulder, stopping there to give it a light squeeze, and pressed even closer against her, relishing the ambrosial exquisiteness of her scent. "If it's that bloke ye be worryin' about, have no fear, Caroline. I will ensure yer forgetfulness."

Forget Tyler? Impossible. But as his size and strength began to overwhelm her, she was forced to rethink her plan. Outrunning him was out of the question—she was far too exhausted, both of mind and body, to even attempt it today. Yet surrendering sat ill with her. She was not the sort to just give up; it wasn't in her nature. But even she wasn't so foolish as to believe she could fix that which was interminably broken. "And if I refuse?" She muttered haughtily, biting her lip as she considered the ramifications of angering a pirate; though she didn't know him personally, she'd heard the tales and knew what he was capable of.

"Then ye leave me no choice." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Klaus had her in his arms, positioned so that she was dangling over his shoulder as he strode hurriedly toward the ship, casting warning frowns in the direction of those few idiotic enough to snicker over his treatment of her.

Caroline groaned aloud to find herself back in the same ridiculous situation she had been in but hours ago—or perhaps it was only mere minutes since last she'd been carted about like a sack of potatoes? "You will regret your part in my kidnapping, scoundrel!" She exclaimed, her tone strident as she wiggled in his tight embrace, wondering if her worst nightmare had ultimately been brought to reality. But he was right in a sense. She truly had no home to return to, what with the way everyone had so readily abandoned her to her fate. Be that as it may, however, her future certainly did not rest with this arrogant bastard. "Why are you doing this?" She cried, slamming her knee into his chest if only to capture his attention. It worked; a little too well for he suddenly brought his hand down upon her rump, likely to punish her for her disobedience. If one could call it a punishment. If anything, it only served to intensify her desire. "Is it wealth you want?"

"No, poppet," he answered calmly, caressing her left buttock and grounding himself in the feel of her, the wolf in him clamoring for more. "I want ye."

* * *

Pain.

Excruciating, acute pain.

It wracked his body, radiating outward from what he perceived to be wounds that had accumulated after his death.

_Death_?

No. Impossible.

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

Panic the driving force behind his desperate bid for freedom, Tyler launched an assault on the wooden surface of the lid, his movements frantic as the darkness began to close in around him, a threat to the calmness he was loathe to relinquish for fear of losing what was left of his sanity. But anxiety proved too strong an emotion to completely banish, and before he knew what he was about, he threw his head back, ignoring the thud it made as it connected with the wood, and released a shrill bellow that reverberated around the coffin, alluding to the impression of starkly agonizing solitude. It was as though the sound acted as a catalyst, for no sooner had it escaped his mouth than he began to dig and scrape his fingernails against the wood, pressing harder, harder, fraught with the urgent need to escape, until finally the wood cracked, a break in the impenetrable force locking him away from the world of the living.

The scent of dirt invaded his otherwise wild, terror-stricken senses as he clawed at the wood, shivers stealing across his shoulders and down his spine, ripping chunks out of the lid as he struggled to claim purchase against the sharp, broken edges.

Then the pain finally hit him. With a gasp, he slumped back against the floor of the coffin, grinding his teeth together in a futile effort to alleviate the worst of the pain. Beads of perspiration dotting his forehead, his stomach churning with nausea, he lifted a slightly trembling hand to his hair, only to blink in shock at the sight of his fingernails. Long, curved, tipped with razor-sharp edges that appeared quite capable of slicing through any barrier, they resembled the claws of a wolf. Tyler shook his head in disbelief. "What have they done to—" Another spasm hit his body, and he bit down hard on his hand to stifle the sound. Elongated fangs sliced through his skin, the taste of his own blood filling his mouth. With a muffled, pain-filled growl, he slammed his other, clenched fist against the side of the coffin, the sound of the wood splintering music to his ears. He welcomed the pain, for it offered him a bit of a distraction—one that slowly but surely overrode his compulsion to succumb to the monster he could feel struggling against the restraints he had hastily placed upon it, nigh frantic in its pursuit of freedom.

Was this to be the end then?

"No," he rasped, fury hardening his tone as he crashed a fist through the wood, then another, kicking and pounding at the walls and lid with all the pent-up aggression of a man recently changed. Rocked by spasms, waves of pain washing over his body as he fought against the urge to transform—an impossible feat, some might claim—he slammed through wood and hard-packed dirt, clawing his way to freedom. Fierce in his determination to succeed, there was a feral cast to his features that emphasized just how close to the surface the beast had come. "I will not die here!"

"Well done, Lord Lockwood."

The simpering, silky baritone caught him by surprise. At the sudden intrusion, a threatening growl rumbled deep within his chest as a dirt-encrusted, sweating Tyler whirled to face the familiar, smirking countenance of Ezra, the hunter he'd briefly made the acquaintance of but days ago. Though he was suspicious of his presence there, he said nothing, choosing instead to watch him with a wariness born of the need for self-preservation.

"Congratulations, boy. You have been promoted from insignificant pest to persons of interest." He flashed a cold smile. "You will make a valuable asset yet."

Stomach churning, the scent of death thick in the air, Tyler struggled to rise to his feet and confront this new threat head-on, but soon found himself slumping to the ground when his knees gave out, grunting in pain as he sank his claws into the dirt, the urge to succumb to the pain nigh unbearable. "Why?" He roared, fangs bared as he fought against the beast's need to shed blood. He was stronger than this, stronger than _him_. "What do you want from me!"

"Your family's … history is quite intriguing, Lord Lockwood," Ezra said dispassionately. "I knew you would one day prove useful, and fortunately for you, that day has come." There was such an intense aura of smug satisfaction about him that it took everything Tyler had not to attack him on the spot. "But, of course, we had to expedite the process."

"Expedite the process …?" And that was when his memories came flooding back, one in particular sticking out like a sore thumb. Tyler cursed aloud; he should have known that night would come back to haunt him.

* * *

**Snorting Bull Tavern – Two nights ago**.

_**What am I doing**__? Tyler thought to himself as he left the tavern, shoulders drooping with weariness, his thoughts whirring with bitter turmoil. He knew nothing of these … hunters and their purpose in England, only that horrible, bloodthirsty dangerous creatures walked the earth, those of which needed to be put down before they were able to gain the upper hand in this war. His father had said as much. Still, why should he involve himself at all? "I should have never agreed to this meeting," he mumbled to himself, hands in his pockets as he started on the pathway home. It wasn't long before he realized his mistake, however, in allowing his emotions to get the better of him, for within seconds of his departure, he was set upon by a man who must have taken one look at him and assumed him to be easy prey by his appearance alone._

_"I do not want any trouble," he warned the other man in a vain attempt to change his mind. But he doubted anything he said would succeed in changing this one's mind, considering he looked the rough type, the sort to steal for the sake of stealing._

_As expected, the thief merely grinned, displaying a row of surprisingly white, even teeth. "Ah, but trouble's found you." Then he struck, launching a deadly assault Tyler had no choice but to counter. Hastily, he brought his arm up to block the attack while at the same time his free hand delved into his pocket to extract the knife he made certain to carry with him everywhere, for protection. But when the man brandished his own dagger at him, looking to carve his heart out, he did the only, sensible thing a lord could possibly do in his situation; he stabbed him._

_Staggering to a halt, the thief glanced down at the knife embedded in his chest, surprise soon giving way to dawning horror as his gaze sliced to where Tyler stood hunched over, beset by trembles. "You've really gone and done it now," he whispered, a grimace settling over features pulled taut from the fear of death as he dropped to his knees, unable to fully support his own weight._

_Tyler stared at the fallen man, his attention caught by the hilt of the dagger; terror held him captive. "I did not mean for this to happen ..." What have I done? Better yet, what would his father do once he learned of this incident?_

_**No**__._

_No one could find out._

* * *

**AUTHORS' NOTES**: Wow! It seems like forever since we've last updated _Tides_, so naturally we had to remedy that as soon as possible. We hope you enjoyed this latest installment! It was certainly a joy to write. xD. Leave us a review if you're able. We absolutely love to hear from you guys.


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